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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849315">Mortal Frailty</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVoidInMyHead/pseuds/TheVoidInMyHead'>TheVoidInMyHead</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vampire: The Masquerade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:39:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,660</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849315</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVoidInMyHead/pseuds/TheVoidInMyHead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>This is intentionally written from the perspective of the main character, Scarlet, whose perception of things is quite screwed. She won’t always make sense to the reader. She’s quite a contradictory character and not the most reliable of narrators at times.</p>
    </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is intentionally written from the perspective of the main character, Scarlet, whose perception of things is quite screwed. She won’t always make sense to the reader. She’s quite a contradictory character and not the most reliable of narrators at times.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I exit the hair dresser just after the sun has slipped past the horizon. I finally had enough money saved up to get my hair dyed bright red.</p><p>I reach into the pocket of my olive green coat, pull out my earphones and connect them to my phone. I listen to music to drown out the rest of the world. All the noise from the city that I hate so much. As I unlock my phone, I see that one of my friends has messaged me. It was Linda. We write each other every single day. She lives about an hour from me, but due to work, we don’t get to meet all that often, so we compensate with this and phone calls at least once every two weeks. I don’t have many friends, but the ones I have, I keep very close to my heart.</p><p>Linda: Scarlet, you got your hair done yet?</p><p>I smile and reply: I did. You done working out at the gym?</p><p>I already know what’s coming. I know her too well. It’s a picture of her in the dressing room with the captions “Just changed. Heading home now.”</p><p>I send her a thumbs up and with that, I change to my music and turn on my favorite song and set it to repeat. What’s coming next, will be less pleasant than the visit to my hair dresser. In fact, I am slightly horrified of what I’m about to do next.</p><p>I head for the subway station and take the next train to the part of town where all the rich people live. I heard rumors about a man living in a mansion. Not a lot of people spoke about him and those who did only did so with caution and a hint of fear in their voices. It had taken me over a month of asking around all over the place to finally find a source that gave me the information I needed.</p><p>I’m watching the lights in the tunnel pass by rapidly as the train picks up speed. I hope nothing goes wrong. There’s so much that could go wrong. Catastrophically wrong. But I really shouldn’t think about that now. It makes me panic, and that’s the last thing I want. I can’t abort this mission.</p><p>The minutes pass too slowly. I’m anxious, I’m getting impatient. I’m going mad and I know it will turn into outright fucking fear, shaking and a panic attack if I don’t control my thoughts and focus on my breathing right this second.</p><p>I need to calm down. There is no reason to freak out. It'll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll-</p><p>"Are you ok?"</p><p>My head snaps up and I stare at the woman who has addressed me. "Yeah, I'm good. Thank you."</p><p>I'm glad she just nods and keeps walking down the aisle. I really don't have the nerve to deal with concerned strangers right now. I know it sounds mean, they're worried and that's kind of them, but my head is overflowing already. I don't need more added to it.</p><p>I look down at my hands and see that they’re actually shaking noticeably. I make one into a fist and resist the intense urge to put my knuckles into my mouth and bite down to make the physical pain stop the thoughts.</p><p>I take a deep breath in, then hold it before slowly releasing the air from my lungs. I do this for a minimum of three times. It helps calming me down, and I’m very glad it does.</p><p>It takes a while for my heartbeat to slow down again, long enough for me to have reached the station I get off at.</p><p>I walk up the stairs and onto the quite lively street. Even though it is dark there's a lot of people out and about.</p><p>I check google maps for the location of the mansion again and make my way there.</p><p>With every step I feel more nervous again. I hiss at myself to chill the fuck out. But of course it doesn't work. Because this is important and there is no way I will go through this process without being extremely uncomfortable one way or another. I'm only praying that I won't mess up too badly.</p><p>The mansion is on the outskirts of this part of town, up a grassy hill that turns into forest just behind the white facade with marble pillars holding up a balcony in the front.</p><p>The whole thing looks like someone has taken it straight out of a magazine. It's almost surreal. It’s beautiful.</p><p>I reach the front door and hesitate before ringing the door bell. It's not the owner of the mansion who opens, but a young woman. She looks to be around 19 years old.</p><p>"Can I help you?"</p><p>I nod, "I'm here to speak to Daeva."</p><p>The woman's expression is like stone. There is no emotion. Even her voice is flat and monotone. "He is not seeing visitors."</p><p>"I want to work for him." This is why I'm here.</p><p>The woman steps aside and lets me in. "He will see you. Maybe." She gestures for me to move down the hallway towards what I assume to be an office and steps away towards the staircase to my right.</p><p>I slowly go down the hallway. It’s lit with ornate wall sconces that emit a warm light. The interior starkly contrasts the bright outside. The floor is made from a dark wood and the walls are painted all the way through on both sides with a mural of the northern lights.</p><p>There is no door into the room, but an archway and looking ahead I see the owner of this home and he is not what I expected. Much younger in appearance than I would have thought.</p><p>He is in his early to mid thirties and dressed completely in black. It's a suit that looks so expensive that I can't even begin to imagine how much that must have cost. It looks custom made.</p><p>I politely knock on the archway and he looks up from his work. A few strands of his dark blond hair fall into his face. His brown eyes lock with mine and he speaks. "Come in."</p><p>I unintentionally wince at the sound of his voice. It's deep, slightly cold and I know in an instant that it's the kind of voice that can be sharpened to an edge that cuts into your soul like a knife into flesh if you're not careful.</p><p>"If you're not going to come in I suggest you leave..."</p><p>It's a warning. I hastily step inside the office and he gets up from his place at the desk and asks, "Why are you here?"</p><p>"Because I would like to work for you." I feel my heartbeat pick up as he steps closer. I'm very tense. He could do whatever he wanted to me and I don’t think anyone would ever find out. If he doesn’t like what he hears... I’ll be erased from history as if I’ve never existed.</p><p>"And why do you want to work for me?"</p><p>He’s suspicious and he has every right to be. The way I got the information is in itself kind of a red flag. It’s not like I saw an online advertisement for the job or anything. "I've heard you were looking for people who could look after one of your businesses and I fit that description."</p><p>He leads me to one of the sofas in the room, has me sit down and then takes the place beside me. I can tell my answer was not quite what he wanted to hear.</p><p>"There are a lot of job offers like that out there. Why are you so particularly interested in mine?"</p><p>I didn't expect this kind of questioning. I don't have a good enough reply to that. I expected to be questioned, sure, but more like something along the lines of “what are your qualifications, skills, etc.”. I feel extremely frail and vulnerable in my mortality right now.</p><p>He sighs. "Darling if you can't answer that it would be best that you go. Apply for something else. Something you can find in the newspaper. You'll be better off."</p><p>I feel like I'm going to tear at the seams. I'm terrified that my next words will be my death sentence. "I want to work with you because-” I feel my voice break for the minutest of moments. “Because you're kindred."</p><p>He bares his fangs at me and I know I have just set off all of the alarms in his head. He leans in. I don't dare to move. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have said that. I should have left when I had the chance. He’d been kind enough to offer me to get on with my life and now I’m doubting that all of this is worth dying for. But I know better. It is. Because it’s where I belong. Where I want to be. In the world of the hidden and the dead that walk the night.</p><p>His voice lowers with every word he speaks until he sounds like my past demons. "And how does a mere mortal know about that? You're no ghoul. I can tell."</p><p>I'm so scared that my stutter makes an appearance as I try to desperately get the words out that would explain. "I- I used to be a ghoul before my regnant met their final death and I skipped town." I'm praying that he doesn't think I’m a hunter, because I’m not. I pray that he believes me. For it is the truth.</p><p>He reaches out and grasps my chin then pulls me closer until my face is mere inches from his. I feel sharp nails digging into my skin. “Tell me who exactly told you about that job I have to offer.”</p><p>He’s not letting go of me. I stifle the impulse to take a sharp breath from the pressure he’s applying to my jaw. “I don’t know his name. It was a guy downtown. Told me to meet him at the club once he had figured out that I was asking around, looking for work. He was extremely cautious. He had me pay him in narcotics up front.”</p><p>The pressure recedes slightly. “Describe him for me. And don’t skim on any details.”</p><p>It could be that the guy who gave me the information is actually one of his. “Two heads taller than me. Looked like he hadn’t slept in quite a while. He was wearing a black sweater. He had brown hair that was cut very short. Blue eyes. A tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. It was a single word. I couldn’t read it though. It wasn’t English.”</p><p>“The word was chaos, and that was Devin,” he tells me and finally lets go. “He’s one of mine. You can relax, I won’t harm you. You’re safe.” After a short pause he asks me, “What did you say he had you pay with?”</p><p>“He wanted morphine.”</p><p>“And how did you manage to acquire that?”</p><p>I was so lucky Devin didn’t ask for a different opioid. “I gave him some of mine. I get it prescribed from my doctor.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>I do too, although something different. Something in his eyes changes. It’s the look of someone whose beast is whispering in their ear to drink. To have a taste of my blood that’s filled with the thing they can’t experience any other way anymore. I feel sorry for him. I have experienced two kinds of withdrawal in my life and I know the hell that it is. To want something so badly, to need it so badly that you will go through any lengths to get it even if that means using violence. I know how much control it takes not to go crazy from that.</p><p>I open my coat and brush my hair aside with my hand so that one side of my neck is completely exposed and watch as his pupils widen. I feel the jolt of fear in me and brace myself. I don’t remember what it’s like to be fed on, because my old regnant always wiped my memory after, sometimes even replaced it with something that my subconscious now associates with being hurt, with pain. I only know about it because one of the other ghouls had told me the night the blood bond had been broken by our master’s demise.</p><p>He doesn’t move towards me even though I’m blatantly offering. Instead he inquires, “I assume you want to be paid in blood in return for working for me?”</p><p>I shake my head. “Not necessarily. Being back in kindred society is my foremost goal. I like being a part of it.” Another truth. “I do need to be able to pay my rent though. I can’t quit my day job if you’ll only be paying in blood.”</p><p>He nods, “I think we’ll be here for a while. Why don’t you take off your coat? I’ll have Marina bring something to drink for you. What would you like?”</p><p>For a split second I’m confused at how quickly the atmosphere has changed. It’s relaxed now and I feel more at home. “Coffee would be nice.” I take off my coat and hang it over the backrest of the sofa. Marina enters a minute later, without being called. She’s the woman who opened the door. Her demeanor has completely changed. Instead of the stone faced expression she’s now smiling and waves at me. Even her voice is different when she speaks. Melodic, full of life. “Hi, Scarlet. I’m Marina. Sorry for before. I’m supposed to deter uninvited guests. Actually, no. Just strangers.”</p><p>I didn’t tell her my name. I know I didn’t. And then it dawns on me. She’s not his ghoul. She’s a Thin-Blood. Lifelike, with no fangs and remnants of Malkav’s gift strong in her blood.</p><p>I look her over again. She’s incredibly pretty. Long, curly black hair and large doe eyes set in a soft featured face. “Hello, Marina. Ah, it’s no big deal. It’s good to meet you.”</p><p>“Heard you’d like some coffee. I was just making some, so you’re in luck.” With those words she’s off, just to return with a cup of coffee for me. “Enjoy.” She puts it down on the table and then she turns and says, “You’re pretty.”</p><p>I thank her and let her know, “Well, I thought the same of you.”</p><p>She giggles. “I know.” And then she leaves.</p><p>I turn my attention back to Daeva who concludes from my lack of reaction to Marina knowing my name, “Your regnant was Malkavian, am I correct?”</p><p>“Yes.” My regnant was the worst and also the best at times. I both loved and hated the madness they spread. Rarely in the same instant. There were weeks I felt invincible and on top of the world, able to do anything. Others I felt worthless, undeserving of even having been born. And when I felt both simultaneously, it was worse than dying. I’ve been like this since my early adulthood, but after having met my regnant, I tipped over the edge from just being mentally ill, to being outright insane. I stopped taking my medication, believing that their blood was all the medicine I needed, when in truth, I think they had lied, or maybe I had just lied to myself. It’s hard to remember. To this day I can’t always trust my head. Not anymore. Because sometimes, I still cannot tell if all of this was real or not. And when I come back to my senses, I just know that it was.</p><p>He thinks for quite a while before he finally breaks the silence between us. “Are you scared of dying?”</p><p>Why is he asking me that? I don’t really know. “I think I shouldn’t be. It’s a part of life. There was even a time I wanted to die. To have peace from the demons that tortured me. Back then I wasn’t afraid, but now... I don’t want to die anymore and I think that makes me afraid of it. I’m not sure.”</p><p>“Well, you’ll find out when you die, I guess...” he whispers almost too quiet for me to hear.</p><p>I take a sip of coffee and feel him shifting in his seat. As soon as I set the cup down again and turn, his hand is on the back of my neck. I stiffen, hold my breath as he brushes my hair even further to the side. “What-?” I don’t get the sentence out. It gets stuck in my throat.</p><p>“I’d like to take you up on that offer from earlier. It didn’t escape my notice. You were offering me your blood, weren’t you?” he says. Apparently he has the kind of voice that can not only be sharpened to an edge that cuts, but also be turned into a warm embrace that pulls you in. And still, I’m tense and anxious beyond belief.</p><p>I can’t speak so I just nod. He cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “Have you changed your mind?”</p><p>I shake my head. I can hear my own pulse in my ears.</p><p>“You’re afraid,” he points out.</p><p>Shit.</p><p>I avert my eyes and turn my head to the side. I clench my fist so tightly that I’m sure that if I press any harder my nails will break my skin. I feel ashamed of myself. Of my reaction. Of my emotions. Of the fact that I’ve been taught to be afraid of this.</p><p>His hand runs to the side of my face where it stays for a while before he uses it to make me look at him and then falls away. “Why are you offering if you’re so scared?”</p><p>I see my own reflection in his eyes. I see someone who’s broken. Someone who has a thousand invisible stab wounds. Someone who will need two lifetimes to heal the damage that’s been done. “I don’t think I can explain.” My voice is so thin, I almost don’t recognize it as my own. “I don’t know how to put it into words that’ll make sense. I felt sorry for you, because your expression reminded me of how it feels to want something that you can no longer have. Not really. Only in form of a substitute ... It made me want to take your pain away... to help you just a little bit... even if it hurts me.” This is my tendency to self destruct at the top of its game.</p><p>He looks taken aback by my reply. Or maybe by my honesty. I can’t tell. “That explains a lot. What I don’t understand is-” And then he puts two and two together. “Your former regnant... They messed with your head?”</p><p>“So I was told. The only thing I know is that I now associate giving blood with intense pain...”</p><p>He sounds disgusted by my statement. “They turned something beautiful into something unspeakably horrendous. They deserved the final death.” He is visibly upset over what had been done. I don’t quite understand what he means though. He explains, “It doesn’t hurt. The only physical sensation you should be feeling is equal to two needles pricking your skin. After that it feels good. It should evoke a similar response in you than that of drinking kindred blood.”</p><p>I want to believe him. I wish I could, but the hurt runs too deep. My memory is too twisted and the doubt is there in the back of my mind, eating away at me.</p><p>“I could help you overcome that fear you have.” His words are spoken softly, almost tentatively.</p><p>What’s the catch? Where’s the hidden motive? What’s he getting out of it? He could have just taken my blood and cared less how I feel about it. There’s got to be a catch. There always is. What he will ask in return is most likely it.</p><p>“I want to help. And I’m not asking for anything in return for it. I’m thanking you for your offer in a way that will be far more valuable to you than words will ever be.” He holds out his hand to me, resting it on the sofa between us and lets the decision whether or not I take it up to me.</p><p>He waits patiently while my mind is racing through every possible “what if” imaginable. Eventually I rest my hand in his and he closes it slow enough for me to be able to pull back if I wanted.</p><p>“I’m going to roll up your sleeve and place my lips on the inside of your wrist, ok? Nothing else.” Again he waits for my reply.</p><p>“I- uhm... okay.”</p><p>“No harm will come to you, you have my word.”</p><p>He raises my wrist, slowly. “I’m ready.” Or so I think, because the moment his lips touch my skin, I’m holding my breath once more. Every muscle in my body is on fire, anticipating a shock and pain. I only relax again once he releases my hand.</p><p>“Alright,” he smiles. “That was great. You’re doing well. We’ll repeat this a few more times until you’re completely comfortable.”</p><p>I blink in utter confusion. I’m not used to not being pushed forward. Not used to this kind of patience. “Okay.” And now, I’m starting to worry. I’m probably keeping him from his work. I bet he was working on something way more important than helping me get over my insignificant issues. “I- I- Thank you. You can go back to your work if you’d like. It’s fine. I’m sorry that I’m wasti-”</p><p>The flash of anger that lights up in his eyes silences me mid word. I immediately start apologizing again, this time for having angered him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” I squeeze my eyes shut in reflex, expecting the back of a hand to collide with my face. It doesn’t come. I stare at him shellshocked, because I’m realizing that his anger wasn’t even directed at me and still I reacted to it with an intensity that I wouldn’t have thought possible. I thought I’d let that behind.</p><p>“I’m not angry at you and you’re not wasting my time. I’m angry at the kindred who caused you all this pain. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he lets me know calmly. </p><p>I let out a long breath. “I realized just moments before you said it.”</p><p>“Oh, and that paperwork I was doing that you were so worried about can wait,” he grins. “I’ll return to it tomorrow.”</p><p>“Alright.” My coffee is getting cold.</p><p>“We can take a break if you like.”</p><p>Did I say it out loud? I didn’t. Did I? It doesn’t matter. I should answer him. “Okay.” I take the cup again and drink. It’s still warm.</p><p>“Did Devin tell you what kind of business I need looked after?” he inquires.</p><p>“The “homeless shelter”.” It only takes three large gulps and I have finished the entire coffee. It was good.</p><p>He starts laughing. “Is that how he described it?”</p><p>“Yes. I had a look after I finally found the place. That location is what I’d call hiding in plain sight. Two story house right next to a parking garage. The house is really, really nice by the way!”</p><p>The expression on his face. I might as well have slapped him and the result would have been the same. “Well, seems like I failed the security penetration test if you could find it. No offence.”</p><p>“None taken.”</p><p>“How did you find it? Because technically you shouldn’t have. Not on your own.”</p><p>“What? Because it is concealed? My former master liked to play something they called “hide and seek times two”. I’ve got to admit, that was actually fun. They would give us an area within the town to search in. We had to find the building they had concealed, enter and then look for them inside and break their cloak of shadows by touching them. Using Auspex was considered cheating. Or well, trying to cheat anyway. All I had to do to find the place was use what I learned from the game. I wouldn’t have found it if Devin hadn’t mentioned the commercial district, to be fair.”</p><p>“You’ve got to be kidding me. For a moment I thought you were joking, but that’s so crazy, nobody could make this up.” He’s shaking his head in disbelief. “Guess I’ll have to have a word with Devin later...”</p><p>“Oh no, please. It’s not his fault, it’s mine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to take a look,” I say hastily.</p><p>He shoots me a questioning gaze. “You’re very quick to jump to his defense even though he’s as good as a stranger to you. Do you think you got him in trouble?”</p><p>“Yes, and I didn’t mean to.” I really didn’t mean to. I should have kept my mouth shut.</p><p>“You think there will be consequences for him? Or that he’ll be punished in some form?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And you would take the punishment for him, because you believe he’s not at fault?”</p><p>I would. “Yes.”</p><p>“What do you think will happen now?”</p><p>The question makes no sense to me. “I’ll be receiving whatever consequences or punishment you had for him.”</p><p>“Are you quite sure you’d take it?”</p><p>I don’t even hesitate before speaking. “I’d take it.” I’ve taken someone’s punishment before. It’s the reason I usually wear long sleeves and scarves, or shirts with high collars. To avoid the questions. It’s not that I mind them, but after a while I got tired of people asking what happened. I take off my cardigan and my scarf. I’m wearing a tank top underneath. “That’s what my former regnant had planned for their other ghoul. They thought she’d been responsible for an incident when she’d not even been near the site. Nobody was at fault, but they wanted to punish her anyway, so I took it instead.”</p><p>He stares in horror. The right side of my upper body is almost completely covered in scar tissue right up to my neck. Some parts of the skin show hyperpigmentation while others do not. My arm is affected as well. The only blessing in this tragedy was that through some miracle, my hand was spared in the torture. All of this was caused by one massive burn.</p><p>“I’m so sorry for you. How-?”</p><p>I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone’s voice crack like this. He sounds almost like he’s in pain. It takes a moment before he regains his composure. As I reach for the cardigan again he says, “You don’t have to cover it if you don’t want to. Not here. Nobody will ask questions.”</p><p>“Thank you,” I mean that. “But I’m actually slightly cold.” I give him a faint smile. “You were asking how this happened?”</p><p>“Only if you want to tell the story. My question was going to be how the burn itself was caused.”</p><p>“Boiling water.”</p><p>I think he can tell that I don’t want to elaborate. “Devin is not in trouble. Not in the way you think. I will have to let him know to be more careful though and he will get to hear about how you found the location.”</p><p>I nod. “Okay.” After a few moments of silence I say, “Devin told me the job was simply to help move stuff to the shelter.”</p><p>“Indeed. You think you can handle that?” There’s the hint of a chuckle in his voice.</p><p>“Yes.” I hear footsteps in the hallway and turn just as Marina enters the office again, cellphone in hand.</p><p>“Daeva, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Devin says he’s coming over. He says it’s important.”</p><p>Daeva turns his attention to Marina. “When will he arrive?”</p><p>Marina puts the phone back to her ear and passes on the question to Devin. After a short pause she hangs up and replies, “An hour.”</p><p>“Alright. Thank you, Marina. Bring him here once he arrives.”</p><p>“Sure.” She doesn’t leave though. She looks over to me as if she wants to ask something, but then she shakes her head and turns to go again.</p><p>“Well, that’s great timing.” Daeva stands up and before I can do so as well, he’s already continued to tell me to wait for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Sitting in the office on my own now, I take a look around the room. Lots of bookshelves, a pile of paperwork and a laptop on his desk. The set of sofas, one of which I’m sitting on and the coffee table. There’s nothing else worth mentioning apart from the amount of books he owns. Some of them look very old.</p><p>I don’t have to wait long before he returns with a folder in hand. He places it on the coffee table, then hands me a form and a pen and sits down next to me again.</p><p>“I would like you to work full time for me. Fill that out and sign it.”</p><p>I look over the form. It’s a simple contract. I fill in the blank spaces with the required information and read the details.</p><p>“Will the salary I suggested cover all your needs?”</p><p>I look up. “Yes. I can quit my day job with that.” He is paying very well. Far more than I’m currently making.</p><p>“Great. Now the only question left is if you would like my blood in addition or not.”</p><p>Is it worth going through withdrawal a second time if anything goes wrong? The answer should be no. It should be for so many reasons. Still it takes a lot out of me to admit that I thought I could do without and the truth is that I can’t. That I don’t want to, now that I don’t have to. And that I was lying to myself the whole time. At least in part. “I would, yes. Thank you so much.” I am so weak.</p><p>He looks surprised. Very much so in fact. He’s seen the conflict inside of me written on my face. He tells me, “You’re a lot stronger than you think.”</p><p>It’s a genuine compliment and I know that he’s probably right. Still, I can’t help but feel defeated. I lost this fight against myself. “Thank you.”</p><p>He takes the contract from me and hands me the copy, which I fold and tuck away into the pocket of my coat before I sit back again, eyes not focusing on anything in particular because I’m still way too deep inside my own head. I can feel Daeva looking at me and it takes a short while before he breaks the silence, tearing my stream of thoughts apart and leaving them scattered.</p><p>“I apologize for being so blunt, but I have to ask: Did your former regnant also make you fear drinking kindred vitae?” he inquires.</p><p>They did not. “No.”</p><p>He smiles. “Well then, enjoy.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>I watch as he bites his wrist and I can smell the blood before I see it dripping from the two puncture wounds. He moves closer and holds it out to me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I take a deep breath. The scent is not what you would expect from blood that’s been sitting in what is basically a container for quite a while. It smells fresh and I can only assume that it’s because of its magical properties.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As I reach out to gently take his wrist, I check if I’m still in control of myself. If I could refuse if I wanted. And I’m surprised to see that I actually could, even having the scent of it assault my senses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before I lower my head to drink, I thank him for sharing his blood with me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No need to thank me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The vitae is warm in my mouth and after swallowing it, I can immediately feel it heating me up from the inside. The warmth is relaxing and empowering at the same time. I pull back and wait. I wait some more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing. Absolutely nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No whispers. No voices. No visions. Nothing. I was expecting at least something in my perception to change. Instead I got a sameness that feels strange to me. Off. Like something is wrong. It’s unsettling. I don’t know why.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look distressed,” Daeva lets me know. “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing changed. I feel the same as before. Even my emotions aren’t amplified... It’s strange. It’s like something is missing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cocks his head to the side and asks, “But you can feel the blood inside you, correct?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod. “I can. Just not in my head... Not in the way I used to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All you feel that’s missing is the insight the Malkavian blood brings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I didn’t think I’d miss it that much. But I do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s any consolation, you should have retained all the knowledge of what they taught you and be able to make use of it, now that you have kindred vitae in your veins again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It does make me feel better. “Well, there’s no way to tell right now for sure, unless you’re able to hide like they could.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unfortunately that’s not a skill I possess, no. I don’t conceal the building. It’s done by someone I work with,” he explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought so. I didn’t think you’d make the trip there every single night to maintain the effect.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Indeed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I feel for the vitae and try to make out what kind of power is hidden within it. For all I can tell is that whatever I gained isn’t an effect that needs to be activated to work first. And now that I’m focussing I realize that I feel... healthier. More so than I did with my former domitor’s blood. “I- Can you tell me what I gained is called?” I ask Daeva.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fortitude. But you need to be more specific for me to be able to tell you exactly. What are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I vaguely remember that for each level of a discipline there are various powers. Which must mean that his blood holds more than one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel healthier. Like I can take more punches than I should be able to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods and names the discipline for me. “I would like to teach you a variation of it as well. It will strengthen your mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’ll probably be useful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you been dominated before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have. And the loss of control is terrifying. It’s like you’re standing beside yourself, watching as your body performs whatever command it is given. Even when I saw it coming and tried to resist, I was never able to. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The discipline will help you when resisting any attempts that are made to sway your mind against your will, no matter if the means are supernatural or not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Thank you.” Even the thought of having my will stripped from me makes me uncomfortable. “So... what happens now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need you to tell me something inconsequential that you wouldn’t like doing. Then I will attempt to make you do just that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I have no idea. Everything I can think of right now are very consequential things. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins. “Why don’t we just have you hit me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said inconsequential! And this is definitely not inconsequential! “What?! No way!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine. Really. You ready to try to resist?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure it’s okay? I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I promise. It’s extremely hard to injure me severely,” he reassures me. “I’ll try to scare you into hitting me, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m really not sure about this. It seems like a bad idea. I-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t trust yourself,” Daeva finishes my thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No. No, I don’t. Not anymore. I have failed too often to even remotely believe that I could possibly do this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have nothing to lose, even should you fail.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wish I thought the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh. “I’m ready.” It’s a lie. I will never be ready, not truly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just remember, no harm will come to you in this house. You’re safe, even if you won’t feel like it in a moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The change in him is immediate. The dread and fear I feel as his gaze lingers on me is unmistakable and it intensifies. I have his full attention and I don’t want it. I want to flee. I want to bring the hallway between me and him. Before I can stop myself I’m turning away and am in the middle of standing up when his hand wraps around my wrist and I’m pulled back onto the sofa, not forcefully, but with intent. The adrenaline coursing through my veins is causing me to get tunnel vision.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you want to leave, you will have to force me to let go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My mind is not completely my own. The menace he radiates is affecting me. I still don’t want to hurt him, but I want to get away. “Please, let go,” I beg. I know he’s using Presence. I’ve experienced it before. Not like this, but as a variant that uses charm and attraction rather than causing dread and fear. And even though I know what’s happening, it still doesn’t stop it from taking a toll on me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not unless you make me, using violence,” he threatens. “So, make me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I try to twist my wrist out of his grasp to no avail. I’m struggling, but I’m not using force against him, actively. I’m so scared. This is no fun. Everything about him is screaming that I am in danger. That I need to get to safety. That he’ll hurt me if I don’t strike first. “Please let go. I don’t want to.” I can feel tears running down my face. The stress and pressure is too much. I don’t want to cry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “Please, stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He is not stopping. It’s getting worse. His voice rises into a sharp hiss. “This won’t stop unless you do what I tell you to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t do it. I’m not hurting you!” I’m crying for real now. This is awful. I’m shaking, I’m sobbing and I feel like shit. Every cell in my body wants to hurt him, to obey, to get away from the source of this horror. “I’m so sorry, I just can’t!” I feel like I’m about to break into a million pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Make me stop!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an electric shock in my head that runs through my entire body before I feel dead inside. Completely empty. “Do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I won’t fight back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abruptly he lets go and the terror emanating from him is gone in an instant. He looks shocked. And even though everything is back to normal and the emptiness is gone, I keep crying. I’m trying to process what just happened. I did it. I resisted. And still, I feel like I lost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scarlet, please look at me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I take a shaking breath, then another and try to calm down. His tone is warm again. I raise my head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am. Are you alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t just look sorry. He looks almost as beat up as I feel. He looks like just seeing me like this hurt him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m alright. It’s alright now.” I hold out my hand to him. “I- uhm...” I’m slightly embarrassed. “Can you hold my hand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes it. He doesn’t say anything, but I think he’s glad that I’m asking for help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My head is hurting. Badly. I’ll probably need some aspirin later. “How did I do?” I ask quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did great.” Is that really admiration in his voice, or am I just imagining this? “I told you you’re stronger than you think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess so. If you hadn’t stopped... I was about to break.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, I wasn’t breaking. I was already broken. The sound that involuntarily leaves my throat is a short, mocking laugh. “Sure.” I count ten seconds. Ten more seconds in which I’m dead inside again before my emotions are revived. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was disagreeing with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you are disagreeing with me, aren’t you?” he wants to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now that he’s asking, I don’t quite know anymore. “For a moment, I was. Now, I don’t know.” There’s too much doubt. Sometimes it feels like I’m sabotaging myself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva is studying my face intently. “Do you often feel like this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like what? Unsure? All the time. “Yes, it’s like you said: I don’t trust myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That wasn’t what I meant.” His eyes are fixed on me so intensely it makes me want to look away. “Do you often feel dead inside?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question makes me want to laugh. I know that kind of response is absurd, but at this moment it seems funny to me, being asked it by someone who is physically dead, but still more alive than I feel a lot of the time. “Depends on what you consider often. It comes and goes in waves,” I shrug. “No worries. It’s not interfering with my ability to work anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My indifference towards it seems to confuse him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I only realize I’m smiling when he asks me why. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s silent for a while, seemingly lost in thought. There are not a lot of sounds. Only the occasional plane passing far above can be heard. There is a single road leading up to the mansion, but apart from that the noise of the traffic from below doesn’t reach here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you ever need anything, please ask for it,” he offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you. I will. I appreciate that.” I do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again, silence stretches only to be broken by Daeva.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t talk much, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t say that. It really depends on the situation and the people I’m with,” I let him know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t seem uncomfortable though,” he notes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would I be? Most people talk about meaningless things to fill silence. Because the silence itself makes them uncomfortable. I have made it my friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You will get along with Devin splendidly,” he grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that. I was told talking to me is like talking to a wall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was told I seem disinterested because I’m not asking any unnecessary questions in between,” I say. “Maybe they have all forgotten what it’s like to actually be listened to...”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust me, you’ll get along well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I believe him. “If you say so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mind if I ask you something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, go ahead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you rather not be touched unless you’re asking for it? Especially since I can imagine the burn scars will probably be sore from time to time? The reason I’m asking is, because I’ll have to let Marina and Devin know if that’s the case. They both tend to be very touchy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s only now that I realize that he’s still holding my hand. “Oh. No, that’s alright. The scars cause me no discomfort.” Hearing Devin’s name mentioned together with being touchy makes me chuckle. “I mean, I don’t know Devin, but he didn’t strike me as such.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll see. How are you feeling right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” Do I really though? I do. I should be thankful. My emotions switch from one to another very quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good to hear,” he smiles. “Is there anything you would like to know about me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I was curious how long you’ve been living in this mansion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A bit over half a century. The original owner passed away and it was sold. I was lucky enough to find it when I did. I had it renovated inside. The outside just got a fresh coat of paint,” he answers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I know what it used to look like, but I really love the interior. Are there more murals in the house?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, a few. Marina painted some of them. The one in the hallway is one of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing that makes me happy. “Oh, that’s amazing!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should tell her if you like it,” he suggests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh. “Of course I’ll tell her!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll appreciate it. What else would you like to know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everyone I’ve met so far called you Daeva. You have a mask that you use for your businesses, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods. “I’m known in the mortal world as Adam Ray Malik. 33 years old.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, okay. Do you have any more questions for me?” I pause for a moment. “By the way, you can let go of my hand if you want. Thank you, again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine,” he smiles. “I enjoy the warmth. You don’t mind, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not at all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. You don’t have any plans for tonight right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t. I also don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to stay with us for the night then? Since you’re practically part of the family now you’re free to come and go as you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was quick. “I’d love to hang out with you guys. Thanks!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can hear a car coming up the road to the mansion. From the amount of time that has passed I can only assume this is Devin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m right. I hear the car door and Marina’s footsteps going towards the front door. I can hear her open it, then there are more footsteps and as soon as the door shuts I hear Marina say, “Daeva is in his office. Do you want coffee?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since I don’t hear a reply, he must have nodded, because Marina’s footsteps fade out, while his come closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn just as he enters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Devin,” Daeva greets him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin looks from Daeva, to me and back again before he says, “I’m so sorry. I fucked up.” He looks broken up about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva points at the sofa opposite the one we’re sitting on. “Sit. We’ll talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m silent. I watch them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin sits down and Daeva introduces me. “Devin, this is Scarlet. You already know each other, since you sent her my way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. I’ll be more careful in the future, I promise. I would never have thought she’d find the place. She found the haven, just by me mentioning the commercial district.” He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva sighs. “It’s fine. She was never a threat in the first place and your decision to tell her about the job has now officially given you a partner to work with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin visibly relaxes. “I learned my lesson.” He looks up at me. “Glad to be working with you, Scarlet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise. Good to see you again, Devin,” I smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva addresses Devin again. “Take good care of her, she already held her neck out for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin looks confused. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She thought you would be punished and was ready to receive your punishment,” he explains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks even more confused. He turns to me. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me. Not really.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because it wasn’t your fault. I went looking somewhere I shouldn’t have,” I answer quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares. I know that stare. It screams: Are you crazy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t look away. But eventually he does and just as he does, there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wait, what? “What was that? You were scared. Why were you scared of me?” I don’t understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t scared,” he tells me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And now you’re lying,” I sigh. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me why. It just confused me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t understand?” Devin wants to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shake my head. “No. It makes no sense to me. How could you be scared of someone who’s as broken as me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s your selflessness that scared me,” he admits. “I wouldn’t do the same for a stranger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s quite alright,” I smile. “Since I’m soon no longer a stranger to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin doesn’t know what to say to that, because he remains silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina enters with Devin’s cup of coffee and sits down next to him. She asks Daeva, “I can stay, right? It sounded like I can stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Daeva chuckles. “I think Scarlet would like to tell you something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I love the mural you painted!” I say. “You have to show me the others some time!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina looks excited. “I will! Thank you so much! I’m so glad you like it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m looking forward to it. And you’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina nudges Devin and asks, “Hey, you think Scarlet’s pretty?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh as Devin nearly spits out his coffee. “I can’t tell if that’s a yes, or a no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin coughs. “Marina!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina shrugs. “Fine, I’ll just redirect my assault to Scarlet.” She asks, “You think Devin’s pretty?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Devin groans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, of course.” I tease him. “You’re such a pretty boy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My life will be hell from now on, won’t it?” Devin grumbles. “Now I have two crazy people in the house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could just tell me to stop,” Marina tells him. “But you never do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, because then you start calling me a spoil sport, and that’s just as bad,” he pouts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor pretty boy,” Marina snickers. “I guess you’ll just have to endure it then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I see the faintest of smiles on his face. He doesn’t really mind after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In all seriousness though,” I let Devin know. “I’m not lying. I think you’re good looking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s not used to compliments. “Uhm, thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina seems to be enjoying herself immensely. “This is going to be a fun night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva is watching the whole display with a look of content on his face. He genuinely seems to be glad to see that everyone’s getting along well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marina, can I ask you something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She replies with a question herself, “Were you going to ask about my visions?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my former domitor was Malkavian and I was wondering how yours manifest. I heard voices and I had visions in my dreams,” I tell her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds similar to what I experience. Voices and images. They come as flashes. They can be really distracting. Do you miss them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I feel blind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina thinks for a moment and then speaks, “I might be able to help, in a way. I’ll get back to you in a few nights. I’ll have to talk with Daeva first before I can be sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for your offer. It’s fine though, don’t go out of your way on my behalf. I’m sure you have more important things to do. I’ll get over it,” I quickly say. “Besides, I have nothing to offer in return.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can feel Devin’s eyes on me. “You are really something else,” he says. “It’s almost like you don’t care about yourself. Almost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shrug. “Most of the time, I guess I don’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll have to work on that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm, okay.” I don’t think there’s much he can do to change that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You liked my mural, that’s all the repayment I need,” Marina chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It makes me smile. “That’s nice. Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva releases my hand and gets up. “I think now would be a great time to give you a tour of the mansion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marina and Devin get up as well and I follow them as they show me around. Every room is unique and incredibly tastefully decorated. There are four levels in total to the mansion. Basement, first and second floor, and the attic, which has been converted into a bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daeva hands me the key to the attic room and tells me, “This is your room if you ever need it. You may come and go as you please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you so much,” I breathe.</span>
</p>
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